


(say you want me to) stay

by goodmorningbeloved



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (But Mostly A Happy Fic), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Fake Wedding Planning, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Not-So-Fake Feelings, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningbeloved/pseuds/goodmorningbeloved
Summary: “I need you to marry me,” Tony blurts over the phone.Oh no,is Steve’s first thought, and the second is,I knew I shouldn’t have let him blow me in the kitchen five months ago.“All right,” his mouth says for him, and his feet must be thinking ahead too because he’s suddenly out of his chair and crossing the room to open his closet so he can get dressed and go to Tony.-Or: considering that he and Tony have been best friends for the past fifteen years and friends-with-benefits for the past five months, Steve assumes that pretending to be Tony's fiancé will work out just fine. Unsurprisingly, he's wrong.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no self control whatsoever. title is from 1d's "change my mind."
> 
> this one's a bit short because it functions more as a prologue, but the other parts are coming out a bit longer. we'll see how it goeeesss

“I need you to marry me,” Tony blurts over the phone.

_Oh no_ , is Steve’s first thought, and the second is, _I knew I shouldn’t have let him blow me in the kitchen five months ago._ “All right,” his mouth says for him, and his feet must be thinking ahead too because he’s suddenly out of his chair and crossing the room to open his closet so he can get dressed and go to Tony, “are you at Clint’s or that place with no regards for sanitation that I _told_ you to stop visiting before you—”

“Before I get kidnapped or something, blah, blah,” Tony cuts in. “Also, you literally pick me up from there _once_ and there just _happens_ to be vomit on the door handle and suddenly it’s on the no-go list—”

“It’s on the no-go list because it gave you food poisoning,” Steve reminds him patiently as he wanders out of the room to grab a clean shirt from the dryer. In the hallway, Bucky's just coming out of the bathroom. He rolls his eyes, makes a phone with his fingers, and mouths,  _Tony?_ Steve nods.

“Semantics—”

“It’s food poisoning, not semanti—”

“I’m not even at a bar!”

Steve pauses, one hand poised at the back of his shirt and ready to tug it off. He holds the phone away. Pulls his shirt over his head. Says into the phone: “You’re sober.” It’s an observation now, not a question, because he finally notices how Tony _does_ sound frighteningly coherent. “What did you get into now, Tony?”

Tony makes a noise that sounds caught somewhere between a wail and a moan, both sounds of despair, and Steve laughs. Doesn’t really mean to, just— _does_. Tony’s funny.

“It’s not funny,” Tony says, kind of half weeping now. “Wow, fuck, I’m starting to wish I _was_ drunk. Will you marry me or not?”

“No,” Steve says.

_“Why?”_

“Why,” Steve echoes, deadpan.

“Why,” Tony mocks, pitching his voice higher before it slopes down to a slight whine. “Answer me, you dick, why won’t you marry me?”

“I could think of at least three good reasons,” Steve says. “First of all, you just called me a ‘dick.’”

“Affectionately!”

“Second of all, I thought when you said _no strings attached_ , that included the solid, gold, goes-around-your-finger type of strings.” Steve shifts, using his shoulder to keep the phone pressed against his ear as he ties up his shoes.

There is a beat of silence. Steve waits patiently, knowing better than to think Tony hung up on him because Tony never hangs up first. It’s a capital-t Thing he has; he hates the pressure of having to figure out when he’s supposed to.

“How serious is this?” Steve asks when the usual amount of time passes.

“I mean, probably physically survivable,” Tony grumbles. “But the rest of my life is at stake here.”

“Are your parents about to put you in an arranged marriage or something?”

“They’ve _been_ about to! Ever since New Year’s! I had to tell them I was seeing someone to get them off my back, but, you know, it’s that time of year when there’s weddings literally every week, and my mom’s been making off-hand comments about grandchildren. _Grandchildren_ , Steve!” Tony hollers. “So there was a party last night, and fucking Ty Stone was there, and he was moon-eyeing all over his _fiancée_ and everyone was, you know, _poking_ and prodding, _it’s okay, Tony, you’ll find a nice lady to settle down with one day._ And they were so _presumptuous_ , like they knew exactly how my life was going to pan out, so I said, _actually I’m already engaged, but yeah,_ he _and I do intend to settle down together one day_.”

Steve tries to process all of this without tripping down the stairs to his car. “So this is Stone’s fault?” he gleans. Fucking Ty Stone. Tony always includes the modifier. From the stories that Steve’s heard of him, Steve thinks it's justified.

“Partly. Partly my parents. Partly the people who insist I’m straight. Did they miss the headlines last year or what? I’m so insulted.”

“Why exactly do you need me, though? It sounds like your parents believed you just fine before.”

“Because fucking Ty Stone then invited me and _my_ fiancé to his wedding,” Tony hissed. “He threw down the gauntlet, Steve. Of course, my parents only thought it was a fantastic idea. If they find out I was lying, they're  _so_ going to arrange a marriage for me. I need— Canada. Should I just move to Canada? I feel like I should move to Canada. Bruce has some nice chemicals I can use to burn off my fingerprints, and I can—”

“Okay, let’s hold off on the breakdown until I’m there,” Steve says gently.

“You’re coming over?” There’s a noise that sounds distinctly like Tony’s forehead thunking against a solid object. “Thank God.”

“I prefer _Steve_ ,” Steve teases.

A pause. “I can’t even be mad at you right now,” Tony’s voice returns, a little muffled. “I am physically incapable of allotting my attention to anything other than this _life or death matter_ —”

“Tony.” Steve drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “Calm down. I’ll help you if it’s so important, okay?”

“…Okay.” Another pause. Steve pictures him stuffed in the corner of his ridiculously expensive sofa, as if trying to avoid his problems by melding with the furniture. “So that’s a yes to marrying me, right?”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony gives a half-sob of relief.

“I will thank you,” he vows, “in the form of sex,” with a degree of blandness than only Tony is capable of.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t— Don’t say that, please.”

“Why not? Remember the time I fixed your bike and you _thanked_ me in the gara—”

“I did that because you looked good working a wrench, not because you were expecting sexual favors from me.”

“Sexual favors,” Tony repeats, laughing, and at least he’s not sobbing anymore. “Oh, God. You liked the wrench, though? I could break it out for you. Are you on your way?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “No to the wrench.”

“It has to be a spontaneous thing,” Tony agrees. “I respect that. Hold on, what were we talking about?”

“You’re not repaying me with sex.”

“…But I _want_ to.”

“And maybe I just want to help the _genius_ who talked himself into a fake marriage…”

“It sounds really bad when you put it like that.”

“It kind of is really bad?” Steve suggests. “What are we even gonna do? I can’t marry you for real.”

“No,” Tony agrees, which is reasonable. Steve shouldn't feel put-off by how easily Tony says it, because they really _can't_. Marry each other, that is. “I just need you to show up to fucking Ty Stone's wedding. We can stage an awful breakup after, like, two weeks. Plans for our future fell through, maybe? I wanted to move to Canada, you wanted to move to…”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind Canada,” Steve muses to the red light.

“Fuck. Okay, I wanted to move to… to…Brazil for all their coffee beans, and you wanted to move to Canada for the— the lights? And it was a dealbreaker.”

“Literally no one will believe that,” Steve says, because one of them has to be realistic here, “but we’ll work on it. I’m outside.”

“Hooray.”

Steve cranes his head to look up at Tony’s townhouse. He sees one of the curtains move aside, and Tony appears through the window, waving. “You’re the best. Come on in, just give me a few seconds to change.”

Steve pauses outside the car. “…You were already naked, weren’t you.”

“ _Half_ naked,” Tony defends. “I was serious about the thank-you sex.”

“And I was serious about not wanting it,” Steve says. “There's going to be cake at the wedding, right? I love cake. I'll take your slice as my thank-you.”

“I'm a little offended that I've been rejected for cake,” Tony begins, “but at the same time, that feels very noble of you. I'll see you inside."

Steve hangs up. He rubs the bridge of his nose and decides not to think about how _I’ve been in love with you since eighth grade_ is the third reason he wanted to say no to this, because Tony clearly needs his help. And as disastrous as all of this sounds already, there’s a part of Steve that likes, just a little, that Tony came to _him_ for help.

He lets himself in and kicks off his shoes by the door — another one of Tony’s capital-t Things — and drops into the sofa. “Hey,” he says when Tony ambles in from his bedroom, dressed down in sweatpants and a hoodie. “So, we’re doing this?”

Tony throws himself on the sofa, where Steve manages to tug him into his lap before he slides straight into the coffee table. “Yes,” he laments.

“Sound a little happier about marrying me, please,” Steve says, smoothing his hair back.

Tony sits up, clears his throat. His eyes go comically wide. “Oh, Steve, of course I will accept your acceptance to my proposal!” he gushes, almost falling off the sofa again when he makes an over-the-top gesture of happiness.

“That is _the_ weirdest way of putting it,” Steve tells him.

“But I’m totally the one who proposed."

“Uh huh.” They could work that out later. Steve’s eyes flicker down to Tony’s lips, which are flushed, like he’s been worrying them between his teeth all morning. He wants to kiss him, not for the first time. He holds himself back from kissing him, also not for the first time.

Tony sighs and sits back to pull his phone out of his pocket. “You eat breakfast yet?” 

“No.”

“Great. I have cereal.”

It’s Steve’s favorite brand. It sits next to Tony’s. Back at Steve’s apartment, there’s a similar arrangement on top of his fridge.

“I know we should probably discuss our fake marriage right now, but can I show you this laptop I built while I was drunk and sad last night?” Tony says over a bowl of Fruit Loops.

Steve shrugs as he pours his milk. “What’s it made out of this time?”

“A pizza box!” Tony's spoon clatters as Tony hurries out of the room, presumably to go get the pizza-box-laptop.

Steve contemplates the breakfast table in his absence. _I am fucked,_ he thinks.

He goes on to pour his cereal.

It’s just one night, isn’t it? They’ve come to know each other well, almost too well, in the past few months. He's seen Tony naked, and vice versa. Several times. They've slept in each other's beds and used each other's showers together,  _also_ several times. And maybe Steve's never kissed Tony, but he's kissed...well, every other part of him, hasn't he, and this- this  _arrangement_ between them, hasn't it lasted longer than any of Steve's previous relationships?

Yeah. Fake-marrying each other should be a cakewalk.


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds his clean hand wrapped up in Tony’s. “You got any plans today?”
> 
> “I do now.”
> 
> Steve raises an eyebrow, even as Tony begins leading him towards the bathroom, as if Steve doesn’t know how to get there himself. “Like what?”
> 
> Tony shoots him an odd glance over his shoulder. “Getting you a suit, ‘course. For the wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) there were three and a half chapters of this already written when i first posted it, and i planned to update it weekly...but i, a reckless idiot, took out my USB without ejecting, and i lost the story file along with a bunch of other writing projects :~) :~) i apologize for how long it took me to rewrite this (mostly because i was already in the mindset of chapter 4 and also the situation just really, really sucked), but hopefully updates will be a little more timely from now on :<
> 
> 2) i'm really bad at replying to comments coherently and/or on time, but please know i read every single one and i cry at all of your support, thank you thank you thank you

Of all things that he expects Tony to come back with, it’s definitely not an actual pizza box teeming with wires, nor a list of terms and conditions scribed on a rolled-up paper towel. “Okay,” Tony says, speaking through the pen in his mouth, and right, there’s that too, “please don’t look yet.”

Steve steeples his hands in front of his mouth. “At which part?”

“…At the other product of my drunk and sad night,” Tony says mournfully, dropping back into his seat with a significant clatter. “Here, look. I made it talk.”

Steve eyes the rolled-up paper towel warily until Tony swats him over the head with it. “Not this!” Tony hisses. “This.” He pushes the pizza box towards Steve.

“I honestly can’t tell if this is a laptop you just taped to a pizza box or a pizza box taped to a laptop,” Steve says.

Tony looks triumphant. “Exactly.”

Steve busies himself with adjusting the lid so Tony doesn’t see the fond smile insisting its way across his face. “How do I turn it on?”

“He already is.” Tony makes a face at his cereal, which has turned soggy in the time it took him to find the laptop. “Aren’t you, JARVIS?”

“Good morning, sir. Everything is going to be okay,” says the laptop, complete with a British accent.

“You built this while you were drunk?” Steve asks, awed. Tony’s always doing that—impressing him. “It’s amazing.” He pushes over the second bowl of dry Fruit Loops he had prepared, because it also always takes Tony forever to find things.

“I still think nothing will top the Pentagon hack of junior year,” Tony sighs, perching his chin on his knuckles as he pours his milk.

“…The Department of Defense crashed Bucky’s party.”

“Yeah! It was fun.”

“They kicked down his door.”

“…It was fun for _me_.” Tony grins at him over the table. “It was fun for you too, admit it.”

“I still have the gray hairs that I prematurely sprouted that day,” Steve says with a shake of his head.

“You’re going to be fine,” says the laptop. “Don’t worry.”

“What’s it doing?” Steve turns the pizza box towards Tony again.

“Everything will be all right,” the laptop assures.

“What he’s supposed to do.” Tony beams. “I’ll talk to you later, JARVIS.”

“The world is _not_ going to end,” JARVIS says in lieu of a goodbye, and then Tony is shutting it down and setting it aside.

“You built an AI to tell you everything’s going to be okay?”

“I will repeat that I was drunk and _sad_ ,” Tony says, counting off on two fingers and tapping the second one meaningfully. 

“And I’m one of your friends,” Steve points out with a little frown. Apparently, knowing Tony Stark since middle school hasn’t rendered him impervious to Tony’s bad coping habits; if anything, Steve's become more acutely aware of them. “You know you could have called me if it was really that bad, right? Or Rhodey, or Pepper…”

“Rhodey still isn’t home, and Pep’s got enough on her plate right now, planning for her and Happy’s wedding.” Tony sighs. “Anyway, _I_ got myself into something stupid, so I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. But then I realized, oh, marriages are kind of hard to fake when there’s only one of me.”

“That would generally pose a problem, yeah,” Steve agrees mildly.

He catches Tony’s lips twitch into a small smile and considers it a victory. But then the smile slips off and Tony’s sighing again, hunching over the table and dropping his face in his hands. Steve eases the bowl away so he doesn’t land in it next time.

“Tony?”

Tony makes a miserable noise. “You don’t have to do this, Steve.”

Steve’s only seen him like this twice before—on his last day of high school, and on the day he and Pepper broke up. It’s a discomfiting expression on him. If Steve had his way, he’d have Tony smiling all the time — but Steve _doesn’t_ have his way, doesn’t even have Tony, so. The only thing he can do, he knows, is try to make this third time a little more bearable for him. “Hey,” he says gently, knocking their feet together under the table, “I thought I said no breakdowns.” He tugs the paper towel from under Tony's elbow.

“You’re aware _don't have a breakdown_  easier said than done, right,” Tony grumbles, looking up blearily.  Steve hums as he unrolls the paper towel, but he barely manages to read a word before Tony grabs it from his hands. "Don't look at that!"

"I think rules are a good idea, though," Steve begins, unsure of why Tony looks so panicked.

"Yeah, but..." Tony unrolls the paper towel himself, and he seems to cringe at each line that he reads. "Wow, I was so drunk. No, we'll definitely have rules, just not stupid ones I wrote on a paper towel." Before Steve can protest, Tony swiftly changes the subject: “Don’t tell Pepper I told you about her wedding, by the way. She wants it to be lowkey. She’ll kill me.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I love Pepper, but I wouldn’t let her kill my husband.” He'll have to consider later why this sentence rolls so easily off his tongue.

“…Fiancé,” Tony corrects. “We’re not married yet.”

Steve finds himself at the receiving end of a Look, one of the few that he has yet to figure out how to classify within the _entity_ that is Tony Stark. Then he realizes what he said to _earn_ that look, and he coughs and valiantly fights a blush. “Right.”

Tony is still looking at him, so Steve pointedly looks down and eats his cereal until there’s nothing left.

“Good?” Tony asks when he has scooped up as much of the milk as he can without outright drinking from the bowl. When Steve nods at him, Tony nods and stands up, starting to clear the table. “Good! I made it myself.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know my fiancé,” Steve brings over the cereal box, “invented Cocoa Puffs.”

“I sure did. That was the same year I invented microwave popcorn.” Tony throws a smile over his shoulder, all sweet.

“First rule of our engagement,” Steve says solemnly, “no more High School Musical.”

Tony confiscates his cereal box, and because he is standing and Steve is sitting, he can hold it beyond Steve’s reach. However, _because_ he is standing and Steve is sitting, Steve can wrap an arm around his waist and tug him in. Tony only laughs, stumbling forward and straddling Steve’s thighs. “What, is _that_ a dealbreaker?”

“That’s half of one,” Steve says, swiftly taking the box back and setting it on the table. “The other half is you actually quoting it.”

“Sorry.” Tony doesn’t sound apologetic at all, but he leans in and starts kissing along Steve’s jaw, so Steve forgives him. He hopes Tony never finds out that Steve would forgive him even without an apology. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You’re not paying me with…”

Tony kisses him on the spot just below his ear, down his neck and along his collar, and he grinds down just right and Steve forgets what he’s arguing against. (Figuratively, that is. Physically, he’s very much arguing _against_ Tony, who keeps kissing his his neck and making those little rocking motions of his hips—)

Steve smooths his hands up and over the sides of Tony’s thighs, appreciative, always appreciative, and finds a good grip before standing up from the chair, bringing Tony with him. Tony gives a little _oh_ , and Steve smiles against his neck, even though he feels Tony’s matching, victorious smile a few seconds later.

“This is making-it-up-to-you sex,” Tony informs him. “Doesn’t count.”

“Don’t make noises when I’m trying to fuck you,” Steve returns, not really thinking about his own word choice. Why should he, when there are more interesting things to pay attention to?

Of course, Tony catches this. “But what if it’s to say _oh, Steve, right there, harder—_ “

Steve doesn’t mean to push him so hard up against the fridge, but thankfully nothing falls off. He hears some scraping, likely the magnets he’s made for Tony over the years, and his suspicions are confirmed when Tony laughs a little between them and says, “Hey, Steve. Wouldn’t you say my ass is _attractive_?”

He’s breathless and all pink in the face, eyes lit up in mirth, and fuck, Steve’s heart _aches_. 

In this position, he’s the one who has to look up at Tony, but he doesn’t mind, especially when it means that Tony’s legs are wrapped snugly around his hips. His answer is a sharp thrust against Tony, pinning him more firmly against the surface.

Tony sighs, his fingers gone tight in Steve’s hair. Steve leans in and buries his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, afraid of what else he might be tempted to do when Tony’s lips are right there. He focuses on the heat between them instead, the just-right-and-not-enough friction of their clothed cocks rubbing together, only faintly worried about how hard he’s gripping Tony’s thighs. Not that Tony ever seems to mind the marks that Steve leaves on him.

Steve comes first, only because he likes it like this, Tony pressed against him without room for anything else. Tony sinks his teeth into his collar, and Steve swears he sees white. The refrigerator rattles as he shoves Tony against it hard and just keeps him there for a moment—

“Don’t stop,” Tony groans, nails digging into Steve’s shoulders even through his shirt, “I’m so close, Steve, fuck—”

Steve does stop, but it’s only to set Tony back down on one leg so he can slip his hand past the waistband of Tony’s sweatpants and briefs and wrap a hand around his cock. Tony moans this time, loud and unfiltered against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve takes it as encouragement to stroke him until Tony whimpers his name and comes over his hand.

“Good,” Steve finds himself mumbling, less like a question and more like a praise he didn’t intend. But he knows Tony likes that, even if he won’t admit it, so Steve doesn’t retract it.

Tony makes a content noise and clings tighter to his shoulders. “Don’t put me down yet," he says dreamily. "M’gonna fall over and die.”

Steve barks out a laugh, which doesn’t feel as out-of-place as it should when he’s still got a hand down Tony’s pants. “Okay.”

“You’re the best. I knew there was a reason I keep you around.”

“And what’s that?”

“The height advantage, obviously.”

Steve smiles through the little knot in his chest. “Uh huh.” He wipes off his hand on his own pants, wincing at the mess, and lets Tony hike his leg around his chest again. “I didn’t realize there were so many,” he comments on the magnets when he pulls them away from the fridge.

“Hm?” Tony looks over distractedly. “Oh, yeah. I don’t mind. How’s Bucky doing, by the way?”

“He’s good. Getting used to the new arm and everything.” He helps Tony back down on his feet, and Tony sighs and presses a little kiss on his shoulder.

“Let’s go shower.”

Steve finds his clean hand wrapped up in Tony’s. “You got any plans today?”

“I do now.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, even as Tony begins leading him towards the bathroom, as if Steve doesn’t know how to get there himself. “Like what?”

Tony shoots him an odd glance over his shoulder. “Getting you a suit, ‘course. For the wedding.”

“I _have_ a suit.”

“Yeah, but I want you in a three-piece.”

“…You know I hate vests.”

Tony smiles innocuously. “Sure. Until I’m unbuttoning it from you.”

Well, he has a point. “There has to be a budget,” Steve stresses as he’s pulled into the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, already busy undressing him, and Steve sighs, suspecting he didn’t hear a word of that at all.

 

✘  


 

His suspicions are eventually confirmed.

“Tony,” Steve says as Tony gradually disappears from his line of sight thanks to the growing pile of suits and shoes in his arms, “every one of these would be enough to buy my entire life.”

Really, he should have known the moment Tony pulled up in front of the tailor and a man, also wearing a suit that looked approximately the same price as Steve’s life, greeted them as they got out of the car. Steve, dressed in the only pair of jeans and shirt that fit from Tony’s closet, felt horribly underdressed the moment he’d stepped out. (Tony had dressed down too, which was why Steve hadn’t expected anywhere too fancy, but Tony could probably walk into a gala in pajamas and still be the best-looking there.)

“Yeah, except human trafficking is illegal,” Tony reminds him. There’s the sound of metal scraping against metal—hanger after hanger being pushed aside. As with everything else, Tony is simultaneously chaotic and systematic in his approach, piling things into Steve’s arms according to a system only coherent in that (brilliant) mind of his. “Why’ve I never seen you in a white tux? This is criminal.”

"But you did. Winter formal, your last one before you graduated, remember?”

“…Oh, my God.” He imagines Tony blinking in surprise somewhere behind that pile. “You’re right. I just blocked that year out from my memory entirely.”

Steve smiles thinly. “You just don’t want to remember spilling punch all over me.”

“And now you’ve reminded me.” Tony sighs, taking him by the elbow. Steve, trusting that he won’t lead him into a wall, focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. They step under the fluorescent bulbs of the fitting room, Tony’s shoes sounding solidly across tile. Steve ends up tangled in the dressing room curtain. (Tony laughs as he untangles him.)

They cram the hangers onto the hooks, where they barely fit. Eventually Tony concedes defeat and drops into the cushioned seat in the corner, almost drowning under their haul but somehow managing to keep a hand free to use his phone.

Steve catches the saleswoman flashing them a cordial but knowing smile. Steve smiles back and tugs the curtain shut.

“I think they think we’re having sex,” he tells Tony.

“That’s ridiculous.” Tony doesn’t look up. “I wouldn't want to stain the merchandise.”

“...Is that a euphemism?”

“You have to ask? I’m disappointed.”

Steve takes off his shirt and throws it at his face. Tony scoffs and throws one of the shoes in retaliation. Steve catches it easily and decides he’ll use that one pair through the whole fitting.

“So the wedding’s this Saturday. We don’t have to attend it, if you have something else going on that day—it’s the reception that matters.” Tony is scowling intently at his phone, and Steve gets the feeling that he really doesn’t want to attend fucking Ty Stone’s wedding. Neither does Steve, really. He’s never met the guy, just knows he was the reason for the single phone call that he and Tony exchanged during their years in college. He also sees the distance in Tony’s eyes whenever the man comes up in conversation, like he’s removing himself from the situation but also reliving whatever fucking Ty Stone did to him.

Steve has yet to find out what that is. He has long sworn that when he does, he’s going to deck that man across the face with an according amount of force.

“Nah, I’m free all day.” Steve finishes buttoning up the vest over his shirt and leaves the tie hanging around his shoulders as he changes into the trousers first. “We should go to the wedding.”

“…Are you sure?”

“It would look more convincing, I think.” Steve shrugs. “Besides, I want to see the look on his face when you walk in and there are more eyes on you than him or his future wife.” Steve silently apologizes to this woman, whoever she may be. It's just that Tony has a certain _presence_ , a way of commanding attention effortlessly, and Steve's mostly sure that isn't just his own bias talking.

When he looks up from his belt, Tony is looking at him with the hesitant beginnings of a smile. “You always know the right thing to say.”

No, Steve really doesn’t. He’d been about to call Tony something else, a word that had crystallized so clearly in his mind when he first met Tony and has been stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat ever since.

“Because I know _you_ too well,” he points out instead.

“…Not well enough.” Tony tilts his head. Steve raises an eyebrow as he tugs on the suit jacket. He watches Tony warily as Tony stands, sets down the clothes, and places himself directly in front of Steve. “I mean, it’s obvious.”

Steve heart seizes in panic for a moment. _It is?_

“You forgot how much _this_ bothers me.” Then Tony’s fingers are pushing past the open jacket to tug at the edges of his vest, and Steve realizes it’s because the buttons are one off.

He laughs a little. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Tony swats him in the stomach. “Fix it! I’m going to break out in hives.”

Steve grins. “Ew. Get your germy hands off me, then.”

“Hives aren’t contagious. Stay still, you ass.”

He twists the tie into place while Tony sorts out the buttons, which means it’s okay if he’s smiling with a stupid fondness down at Tony’s head because Tony can’t see.  When Tony finishes, he steps aside, and together they assess Steve’s reflection in the full-body mirror. The suit, an Oxford blue three-piece with a maroon tie, hangs on him decently despite not being a tailored fit. Steve thinks it’s fine, but he looks to Tony, who has far more experience with these kinds of things.

“…I think we should try a lighter one,” Tony mutters after a short while.

“Never been able to pull off dark colors like you can,” Steve says by way of agreement.

“No, no.” Tony shakes his head. “It’s not that, it’s…” He bites his lip, turning to study Steve in front of Steve’s reflection. “…Just try the lighter blue. This one feels more _high-end office party_ than wedding, you know?”

“Sort of. Which blue, exactly?”

Tony picks out a blue-gray outfit from their pile and lays it over Steve’s arm. “Definitely,” he says with a nod to himself.

His phone rings as this time Steve undoes the vest while Tony undoes his tie. “Shit. Hold on.” Steve moves his arms out of the way so Tony can answer, secure the phone between his ear and shoulder, and return to unknotting the mess of the tie that Steve has made. “Pepper! How’s the— Whoa, okay. Yes, I was ser— Wait, is this a lecture? Why are you lecturing me?”

Steve snickers at Tony’s earnestly distressed face. Tony tugs on his tie punishingly.

“Yeah, he’s here. _Why?_ ”

Tony huffs, then lets go of the tie to hit _speaker_ and pass the phone to Steve. “She wants to talk to you. Christ, she’s scary when she’s mad.”

“Tell him I heard that,” Pepper says as soon as Steve says _hello_.

“She heard that,” Steve tells Tony.

Tony grumbles and returns to his tie.

“Can you maybe talk some sense into him too?” Pepper asks. “On the list of every terrible idea he’s ever had, this might just rank first.”

Steve can only assume she’s heard about Tony’s plan. “I mean, it’s being handled,” Steve replies, tilting his head up as Tony finally pulls the tie loose. “I know it sounds bad, but…”

“Bad? _Bad?_ First it was a fake boyfriend, now it’s a fake fiancé. If it’s a fake child next I swear I’m going to—”

“Pepper, please, I wouldn’t be _that_ unrealistic,” Tony says helpfully. “Neither Steve nor I are capable of conceiving children, so a fake kid wouldn’t pass.”

There’s a period of silence from the other line. “He asked you?”

Steve can’t quite place Pepper’s tone. “Yeah? And if you think he bribed me or something, he didn’t. I’m helping because I want to.”

“Of course you do,” Pepper says with a long-suffering sigh. The line goes muffled for a second, though Steve catches the words _no_ and _both_ and _idiots_ that Pepper conveys to someone else, possibly Happy. “Thanks, Steve. Can you give the phone back to Tony?”

“It’s really going to be fine, Pepper,” Steve assures her before he returns the phone. 

Tony takes it off speakerphone and steps away from a moment. Steve winces when he hears a fresh outburst from Pepper—so she probably wasn’t very assured at all. _Sorry, be right back_ , he mouths, and Steve nods and moves aside for Tony to exit the dressing room, still trying to placate Pepper over the phone.

Steve finishes changing into the blue-gray suit, but by then Tony still isn’t back, so he just takes a picture of himself for reference. (It’s clumsy and a little awkward and he still doesn’t know how people can take and send pictures of themselves so easily, but it will be enough for Tony to be able to judge.)

He’s on outfit number four when Tony finally comes back. “Everything okay?” Steve asks as he pulls the curtain open and Tony ducks under his arm, typing furiously into his phone.

“Yeah. Just had to convince her everything’s under control.” Tony sighs, carefully stepping around Steve’s discarded shoes. “I didn’t think she’d hear about it so soon.”

“You think other people know too?”

“Oh, I _know_ they do. It was just...quicker than I thought. What’s that one line… _Everybody talks, everybody talks._ ” Tony hums out the tune, albeit looking rather unhappy about it. Steve thinks it’s adorable.

Tony sighs loudly, puts down his phone, and looks up. He freezes.

Steve smooths over the lapels of the charcoal black suit and glances at him, a little concerned at the way Tony's mouth has parted yet failed to make any sounds. “I tried a few others while you were gone. If you w—”

“No, it’s fine.” Tony’s still staring. “Damn it, Steve.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, feeling a little nervous—especially when _that_ movement makes Tony keen a little. “ _What,_ Tony?”

“Nothing! Life’s just unfair, is all. Jesus.” Tony’s hands wave an uncertain circle in front of him for a moment before he places them lightly on Steve’s shoulders. “This is perfect. We’ll get you fitted for it.”

And just like that, Steve feels his worry fizzle out. “You know,” he complains, “when you’re about to compliment me, you can make it clear that it’s a compliment instead of starting like I just kicked your puppy or something—”

“That’s one of the worst things you’ve ever hypothetically accused me of,” Tony says, appalled. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “So this passes? We’re done?”

“Fuck yes. Now help me put all these pieces back on their hangers, why the hell did I pick out so many—”

Two simultaneous buzzes interrupt them. Tony looks down at his phone at the same time Steve fishes his own from his pocket. _Thor’s dropping by tomorrow night, feel like dinner?_ Nat’s asking. It’s been sent out to their usual group.

“Ugh." Tony makes a face. "I have a board meeting tomorrow, so I’ll probably be late.”

Steve’s typing out his own reply. “Want me to pick you up?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t want you to miss any parts of the fun.”

“You’re just afraid of my bike.”

Tony’s sugary smile and _fuck you too_ is confirmation enough. “For that, you’re carrying everything back out.”

“I’m sorry, haven’t I already been doing that most of the time?”

“I’m going to conveniently faint at this very second and then you’ll have to carry me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats meaningfully, “haven’t I already been doing that most of the time?”

Tony stares at him, a little awed, a little proud. “Did you hear that?” he asks his armful of clothes. “I have picked a worthy husband, finally an equal for my verbal sparring matches.”

“Stop talking to the clothes, Tony.”

“If you can’t beat them, join them, right? In this case, join their hand in marriage. Hey, Steve, get it—”

They struggle and fail to contain their laughter all the way out of the dressing room. 

Steve thinks they’re off to a pretty good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me as i write this: oh boys. oh boys oh boys oh _boys_
> 
> also: [pizza box laptop](http://goodmorningbeloved.tumblr.com/post/165187290277/hollowprose-shut-the-hell-your-mouth).


End file.
